Ambivilance, OR: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Sourwolf
by AlphaOmegaPsi
Summary: It's mating season for a certain Alpha werewolf. Stiles helps. Sterek


Stiles is usually pretty good at figuring things out. As the unofficial information booth for the pack, he kind of has to be. He may not have fancy werewolf powers, but as far as his human deduction goes, he's not too shabby at noticing the little things. But every now and then, one moment out of all the brilliant ones, sometimes things just fly under his radar, unnoticed until someone shoves it into his face.

Just such an instance happens on Tuesday. That's when Stiles first notices but-not-really that something is off. Scott's normally short attention span is now infinitesimal, Boyd is missing from school, and Erica and Isaac have forgone their "Prepare for Trouble" routine to instead pop in and out of class like some kind of freaky jack-in-the-boxes.

That's nothing compared to how weird Derek's acting, though. His eyes follow Stiles whenever they're in the same room together, and that wouldn't be so weird if not for the unabashed longing in his gaze where the annoyed glare would usually be. Not to mention the strange, heady scent that seems to roll off him him waves that was definitely not there before because Stiles would have remembered it. It's kind of hard to miss and also makes it extremely hard to think.

He wonders for days what's up with the wolf pack until finally, the following Friday, he finds out.

The rain is pouring down in thick torrents on his windshield, the ancient wipers struggling to keep up with the downpour as he squints out onto the road. Luckily, nobody else is stupid enough to come out in this weather, so no head-on collisions are imminent, but he doesn't exactly want to run into a tree so he's taking it slow and steady.

That's when he sees him: Mr. Sourwolf himself, Derek Hale, walking down the side of the road like it's nothing; no umbrella or coat, the rain soaking his clothes and making them practically see-through and _wow..._that is a lot of muscle definition.

Stiles wants to pretend he didn't see him, wants to drive on past and ignore him and let him get sick (can werewolves even get sick?) but then he's pulling off to the side of the road and opening the passenger side door and staring into the eyes of a very incredulous looking werewolf and he really is way too nice for his own good, he should get a medal.

"Well? Are you getting in, Ms. Daisy?" He knows the joke isn't clever and Derek obviously doesn't even appreciate it by the blank stare he receives in return, but after a moment he hops into the jeep, soaking through his nice leather seats that he _just_ got reupholstered, isn't that great, and he continues his slow crawl down the road.

"Soooo...not that this is completely weird for you to be out for a stroll in the middle of a downpour or anything, but...what exactly are you doing out on this buttcrack of days?" Of course, he wouldn't be Derek Hale if he actually gave him answers to his questions. All he got was a steady gaze, halfway to a glare, and the steady sound of his poor seats being wrecked.

"Fine. Okay. Awkward silence it is." Not that there's any other kind of silence when Derek is involved. He glances at the older man in his passenger seat and has to bite his lip at the sight. There's no way anyone this godly could really be real. For god's sakes, he can see all of his abs through that shirt. And that smell...he can smell him from the driver's seat; it doesn't make any sense, dogs smell awful when they get wet, why does Derek getting wet make him smell _better_? Some people get all the best genes, it's not fair.

He's halfway home when Derek finally says, "You're going the wrong way."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah. That's because I'm going to my house." He pretends to ignore the ungrateful snarl Derek throws his way, because he's not turning around now. "Don't give me that. You're going to go back to your house, which is cold and dreary and dirty, and you're going to catch a cold or die of pneumonia or something and I really don't care if you do, but we both know that if you went, the only one who could be Alpha is Scott and trust me, that would not work out well for anyone ever." He sighs. "My place has a hot shower, and a dryer for your clothes, and actual food that you don't have to hunt down in the woods, and my dad's not home until like midnight, so I don't want to hear it." He expects Derek to put up more of a fight, but to his surprise he doesn't hear any complaints.

He expects some snide comment from the older man, especially since the last time he was here Stiles had basically made him strip for his and Danny's amusement. He doesn't say anything, though. He barely looks at Stiles. Instead, he quietly makes his way upstairs to the bathroom, and a few minutes later, the sound of the running shower can be heard. When he goes upstairs himself, Stiles finds a pile of wet clothes outside the door. He picks them up and takes them down to the basement, throwing the soaking wet clothes in the dryer.

When he's done, he takes a moment to appreciate the situation. He currently has a very hot, very naked werewolf in his house. That is a fact and it isn't looking to change anytime soon. He could kick himself for picking Derek up, but really, he would feel way guilty if anything happened to him. As much as he claims to dislike him...there's a part of him that actually wants to protect him. Silly, how he wants to protect someone as strong and independent as Derek Hale. Then again, disregarding the fact that he's a werewolf and they're all like super great at healing and junk...he's actually seen the older man in quite a few life-threatening situations and personally he's grown to dislike the sight of Derek's blood.

Stiles really doesn't know what to do with himself now. He supposes he could...but no, no, he'd wanted to do that when he thought the house was empty, but it wasn't empty anymore, now Derek was here.

Still... He glances up the stairs. The shower is still running. This is the first hot shower Derek's had in probably several days, if not weeks. He'll wanna take his time. Stiles has time. He wrestles with the decision for a few moments longer before just saying fuck it and reaching down to unbutton his pants.

He quickly flips through his mental catalogue of porn, and for some reason the thing that excites him the most is the memory of Derek in his room that one day, standing shirtless with an expression that's halfway between kicked puppy and homicidal maniac. It shouldn't turn him on, since most of that homicidal part was directed at him, but it does and he just rolls with it before he can start questioning his sexuality again.

His head falls back with a sigh as he begins rubbing himself (no lotion, he likes the friction) to any images of Derek his mind has helpfully stored away for a day like today. The sight of him all soaking wet from the rain, that heady scent that even now fills his nostrils. This is fucked up in ways he can't even imagine because it's _Derek Hale, _and yeah, the guy's attractive, but he's also a pain in the ass who can't decide whether he wants to kill him or not.

"Derek," Stiles groans softly as he cums all over his shirt, which he's an idiot for not taking off in the first place. He glances up the stairs, where the sound of the running shower can still be heard, thank god. He'd never get over the mortification if Derek caught him. He goes upstairs and changes his shirt, (and also changes into sweatpants for good measure, because he has this policy of never wearing jeans in his own house if he can help it) and then goes down to the kitchen to try and figure out dinner. Which is apparently for two now, because he's not letting Derek go home without something in his stomach. He's got too much of his mother in him not to feed the damn wolf, even if he has to do it by force.

He's flipping through recipe cards when Derek finally makes his appearance, dressed only in a towel yet dripping wet all over the kitchen floor. Of course. Stiles will yell at him the minute he remembers how to speak.

"Where are my clothes?" Derek asks, snapping Stiles' eyes away from his fantastic abs.

"Er. Driveway. Dryer!" Stiles turns away from the look he knows Derek is shooting him and tries to focus on the recipes, but it's a little difficult when that scent is back, practically rolling off the werewolf in waves and making it really hard to concentrate. He has no idea what's happening here, but damn if he's going to face Derek right now, so he just picks a recipe at random and begins gathering the ingredients.

When he finally gathers up the courage to glance behind him, he's startled to find Derek standing directly behind him. "Jesus!" He jumps away. "Sneak up on me, why don't you?"

"Do you want help?" Well, he's not exactly expecting _that. _Who knew Derek even knew that word when it didn't involve him and Scott tracking down some big-and-nasty?

"No, no, no help. None at all." He clears his throat at the little squeak in his voice. "Just...go do something else. Away from here." A shiver runs up his spine at the feeling of Derek taking the smallest step closer. And then, suddenly, he's gone and Stiles is finally alone and he feels all light-headed and dizzy and a bit freaked out by what just happened. He's still not entirely sure what it was, and he's torn between wanting to ask Derek and being mortified to death if it turns out it had nothing to do with werewolves and it was just his own teenage hormones wildly out of control.

He makes chicken, which is literally the most boring meal on the planet, but it's easy and he's made it a million times before so it'll at least taste good. The entire time, he hides out in the kitchen, afraid that if he leaves...well, he's not entirely sure what he's afraid of, actually, he just knows he wants it to involve Derek "you-could-grate-cheese-on-my-abs" Hale.

When the food is finished and Stiles realizes the werewolf has completely disappeared, though, that's when he has to finally drag himself out and actually go looking for him. For one moment, he's actually scared that he took off, but his clothes are still in the dryer and even Derek isn't stupid enough to run outside in the rain completely naked. Finally, he finds him in the last place he would ever expect. His room.

_His room._

What's even weirder is that he's curled up under his blankets, actually asleep, something Stiles never thought he'd see Derek do. He looks so vulnerable, so peaceful, so...not-Derek. It's almost a shame he'll have to wake him. But... He pulls out his phone and takes a picture. For totally non-creepy reasons, really, he just wants proof this actually happened. That Derek Hale, professional badass, is actually cute when he sleeps.

Stiles doesn't know how long he just stares down at him, probably an embarrassingly long time, but finally he reaches out to grasp his shoulder and shake the other man awake. "Hey, Derek. Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey. Well, chicken...and I lied about the bakey." Derek growls a bit when he wakes, something Stiles sort of expects. What he doesn't expect is to find two bright red glowing eyes staring back at him, and a very naked werewolf suddenly pinning him to the wall.

"Okay. Point taken. Let sleeping werewolves lie." Stiles cowers under the gaze of the alpha eyes, which slowly soften and turn back to Derek's normal green. The older man looks a bit confused, like he doesn't really know what's going on. Stiles wishes he could tell him, but since most of his brain function is going to not pissing his pants, he has a feeling he won't be of much help.

"Stiles," he says, and is it just his imagination or is his voice a lot lower than usual? "Are you okay?"

"Yep. Peachy. Just dandy. You know, feel free to let me go anytime you want." Not really because he's uncomfortable, per se, nobody could deny that this is a lovely position to be in, but Derek is way too close and he still smells amazing and he's naked and Stiles is about two seconds from doing something he knows he'll regret. Thankfully, Derek moves away and follows him downstairs.

"Uh. Forget something, buddy?" Stiles tries to avert his eyes as Derek in all his glory walks around his house like being completely naked is no big deal. He doesn't even seem to hear him as he grabs a plate of food and chows down. Stiles can't handle this. He cannot have a naked greek god parading around his house; on the list of things that aren't okay that's pretty not-okay. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be much he can do about it so he just grumbles in annoyance and takes his own food up to his room which, to his incredible frustration, still smells like Derek. He can't get away from it.

He surfs the web for a bit, nibbling at his chicken even though he has literally no appetite, and waits for Derek to leave. Unfortunately, he didn't anticipate his dryer to take so long and soon Derek Hale is back in his room, lounging on his bed, still naked as the day is bright, and Stiles is halfway to beating his head against the wall for ever picking him up in the first place.

That's when he hears the whimpering. At first he ignores it, thinking it's some animal outside, and then he realizes it's coming from his bed. From Derek. He's almost afraid to turn and find out why he's making that noise, but eventually curiosity gets the better of him and he swivels his chair around to find what might be either a glorious sight or a terrifying one.

His eyes are bright red, but he's clearly not angry or wolfing out. Rather, his eyes are gentle, longing, almost needy. He's staring straight at Stiles, a steady gaze which doesn't waver even as he turns, even as Stiles glances South and realizes that the werewolf is trying to hide a raging erection between his thighs. Trying and failing, he might add.

And that scent...that damn scent is stronger than ever, making his head fuzzy and clouding his judgment like crazy. The next thing he knows, and really he's not even sure how it got to this point, he's on the bed and Derek is humping against him like crazy, making him see stars, and in the back of his mind he wants to make him stop but he knows he's not going to make him stop because damn it's good and he really really wishes he didn't have pants on but damnit, he's not going to stop long enough to take them off.

"Oh, f-fuck, Stiles..." If he were in a different situation, Stiles might laugh at the fact that Derek Hale is actually moaning his name, but in his current situation, really all he can do is moan back and hang onto his shoulders and cum in his pants like the virgin he totally is. And it's only afterwards, when another poor shirt faces death-by-sperm (not his, this time, and he's really not sure how to feel about that) and they're just kind of laying together on the bed, that he finally finds his voice and says,

"What the fuck...was that?" In the history of graceful ways to handle delicate situations, Stiles will never be found. But now that fog in his brain is gone and he can think clearly again and he and Derek just... Oh god, oh god, he takes a few deep breaths to calm down so he doesn't have a panic attack, because he is literally on the edge of a panic attack, this is one seriously fucked up situation.

Derek looks almost guilty, which is crazy because Stiles' memory might be fuzzy, but he's pretty sure he's the one who did the jumping in that situation. He looks almost like a kicked puppy and no, he cannot start that train of thought now because Derek needs to explain what the hell is going on right now.

"I should have told you," he says quietly. "Or Scott should have told you. Or someone. Just...you should have been told."

"Should have been told _what_?" Stiles demands, his tone bordering on hysteria. He's suddenly very aware he's laying next to a naked Derek and he jumps up to start pacing around his room. "It's bad enough you guys are keeping things from me, now suddenly you smell good and look amazing and I can't think when you're around and I know I'm a horny teenager and believe me it's not like I haven't noticed you before, but god damnit, there is something going on and I know it and you know it so let's just cut to the chase, all right?" He's panting a bit, talking just to keep his panic down, but it just seems to have made it worse. He forces himself to stay silent when it looks like Derek is about to speak, however, and sits down in his desk chair to avoid screaming and throwing himself out of the window.

"It's mating season. For werewolves," Derek says, all deadpan and calm, not beating around the bush at all because why would he? Clearly the ice on the whole situation has been broken, there isn't even a bush left to beat around.

"Okay. Okay. That's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Yeah." Stiles gulps in big breaths of air, trying to calm down, and subsequently breathes in more of Derek's super-amplified scent. "Why do you smell good?" he demands.

"You're smelling my pheromones," Derek replies calmly.

"Oh. Wait. What?!" Stiles isn't exactly sure how to react to that. He knows what pheromones are, but... "But why am I smelling them?"

Derek sighed. "During mating season, my scent becomes much stronger...so I can attract a mate."

Stiles stares at him for a long time, and it's really all he can do not to sink to his knees and start screaming, because that is kind of a brain overload and there should be laws against people having to deal with this kind of thing.

"It's not exactly something I chose," Derek says with the hint of a growl, uncomfortable under Stiles' horrified stare.

"Hold up. Wait. You're saying...you want this to continue? Because you want me to be your mate?"

"No!" Derek is a little more furious than usual at that, and his eyes flash red for the barest moment before he calms down. "I don't want to continue this. Becoming a werewolf's mate, it's...it's a lifelong commitment, Stiles, filled with heavy responsibility. Especially for a human. Especially for a young, weak, frail, gawky..."

"Okay, okay..." Stiles is a little hurt here, not that he really wants to be Derek's mate, but still. He takes a few deep breaths to calm down. He can feel a panic attack creeping in and wants to avoid that, especially with Derek here. "So...what, you find another mate or what?"

Derek shakes his head. "I've never had a mate," he says. "The only person I've ever even considered was..." He stops and Stiles considers pressing for him to continue, but something about his expression makes him decide to just let it go. Something tells him trying to bring it up is going to bring out angry Derek, and he doesn't really want that.

He rises from his chair to sit down gingerly on the edge of the bed. He's not really sure what to do in this situation, so he just sort of pats his arm and says, "There, there." They sit in silence for a while before Stiles says, "So what are you going to do without a mate?"

"Well...mating season is only six weeks long. I can make it."

"Really? Because I caught a glimpse of you back there and you looked pretty miserable." He ignores Derek's scowl. "I'm just saying, it'd probably be easier if you...had someone to help relieve some of that tension that's building up, eh?" He elbows Derek in the side with an awkward sort of grin, trying to flirt in his own way but failing pretty miserably. Epically miserably, actually.

Derek seems to catch the hint and just stares at him. "What? You want to be like a temporary mate?"

"Well, no, I mean, no mate stuff, just...sexual stuff, maybe." Stiles rubs his own arm. "Look, all I'm saying is, it felt pretty good, and I might be a total virgin, but hey, I'm a total virgin who's willing."

Derek looks like he's considering it, then he shakes his head and says, "It would never work. You said it yourself. You don't trust me and I don't trust you."

"What's there to trust? Look, it's just one guy helping another guy out, no big deal, we don't need to bring your trust issues into this. You can still be the same old broody werewolf I know and love to hate. Nothing else needs to happen. Just sex. No strings."

For a moment, Stiles thinks this can never work, that Derek will leave, or laugh in his face, or even eat him, but the slow nod and the sudden assent in the older man's eyes makes him almost leap for joy.

"Okay," he says hesitantly. "This is...okay. I can live with this." Stiles has to keep himself from cheering because, male or not, Derek Hale or not, he's finally getting laid.

To say things go well would be...a gross overstatement, actually. He very much underestimated just how horny Derek was going to be on a daily basis. Every night he sneaks into his room, whether his father's home or not, and they mess around. They don't actually have sex, half because the idea of a horny alpha doing anything to his butt that he can't see makes him skeevy, and half because Derek is usually so sexually charged he barely has time to get their pants down before they start humping.

Still, participating in any kind of sex act with another person is a novelty in itself, and he can't say the orgasms on a nightly basis thing is such a bad deal. Plus, Derek is still Derek, incredibly sexy body and all, though ever since that first day, he's never completely naked.

There's one factor neither of them chose to acknowledge, however, and that's Scott.

"You smell like Derek," Scott tells him gracelessly one day, thankfully making an effort to keep a hushed tone. Stiles groans, his locker banging loudly as he opens it. The one day he sleeps through his alarm and doesn't have time for a shower. Of course. At least Scott waited until after school to say something.

"I think your nose is oversensitive," Stiles replies cheerfully, casually. "Also, your pupils are like...gigantic. Is Allison helping you out with this whole mating season thing?"

"Well, sort of, but not really any more...than..." Scott's eyes widen. "Wha...you know?" He gapes at him a moment before leaning close and sniffing at him and Stiles really has to fight not to push him away because yeesh, personal space, ever hear of it Scott? "Oh my god, you're sleeping with Derek!"

"Jesus, keep your voice down, will ya?" He lowers his own voice and glances guiltily at his friend's horrified expression from the corner of his eye. "He doesn't have anyone, okay? You've got Allison and the rest of the pack seems to be faring okay so I'm sure they've got someone, but Derek's like...all alone, you know? And he's too stubborn to pick a mate, so I'm just...helping him along until this whole thing's finished."

Scott stares at him like he's suddenly sprouted an extra head. "Um. That's...what? But you hate each other!"

"Hey now, hate's a strong word." A strong word that was pretty accurate, but still. "We get along."

"Yeah. Okay. Stiles, what the hell are you doing?"

"Wha-nothing! Jeez!" Stiles holds his hands up defensively. "Just because some people can be with their girlfriend whenever they want doesn't mean all of us have that luxury."

"Allison has nothing to do with this," Scott growls, suddenly defensive. Nobody can talk about his girlfriend at the best of times, Stiles can only imagine how badly those werewolf hormones are messing with his already existing obsession. "You know when this is over, Derek is going to kill you, right?"

Stiles slams his locker shut. "Scott! Just...can you let me have just a little enjoyment in my life? Just a little? I supported you with the whole...you know...can you just support me with this?"

"'This' being...what? You and Derek being fuck buddies?" Scott's voice is barely above a whisper in the empty hallway, but Stiles still shushes him.

"Look, just..." Stiles grunted in annoyance. "Yes, okay? Fine. We're fuck buddies. But that's more than I've ever had, and I dunno...I like it."

"You like it." Scott's expression and tone are the deadest of deadpans. "You like it that he's using you and taking advantage of you. You like it that he...he just sees you as a piece of meat he can throw away whenever he's done. That's what you like?"

Stiles has to admit, that stings a little. Partly because of the way Scott says it and partly because he's had those same thoughts more than once during his and Derek's little excursion. "You don't...know he thinks that," Stiles says lamely.

He doesn't want to believe it. He wants to stubbornly tell himself that Scott is just saying all these things to hurt him. Then of course he has to wonder why he even cares. Of course Derek wouldn't be interested in him past sex, that was the point of the whole agreement. He vows to stop worrying about it because it's not a big deal and no, he's not hurt, not one bit.

"I don't care, Scott. I'm using him, too. So it's a mutual taking advantage of thing. And have you _seen_ his abs? Not a bad trade."

Scott sighs as he follows behind him. "I just hope you know what you're getting into." He makes a face. "Of all the guys you could go gay for, why did it have to be Derek?"

"Hey, hey, hey, I still love the ladies, man. Just, ya know, a little sausage on the side never killed anyone." The horrified look that gets him is well worth the bad analogy. "I don't want it for the main course, though. I'm not Danny."

"Right. Cuz if you were, you'd be getting laid way more often..."

"Hey, did we not just discuss how often I'm getting laid right now?"

"It still won't be as much as Danny."

"Yeah? Well...that's actually probably right, but still." Scott laughs and it seems like he really will drop it, but just as they're walking out the West doors, he stops and grabs Stiles' arm.

"Speak of the devil," he says softly, as Derek approaches them, all dark and mysterious and silent and _damn_...that stupid smell is back and Stiles doesn't know why Derek's here but he hopes it's leading to some pantsless fun time.

"Scott." Derek doesn't even look at his friend, too busy boring a hole into Stiles' skull with that intense stare that totally doesn't make him weak in the knees, not one little bit.

"Derek." Scott is definitely not happy about this development, or the fact that he's suddenly being completely ignored. "We were just on our way home...mind getting out of our way?"

"As a matter of fact..." Derek steps closer to Stiles, so close his breath hitches and he can feel butterflies forming in his stomach. He swallows as Derek reaches for him, reaching into his jacket pocket to grab his keys. He tosses them to Scott. "Take Stiles' jeep. I'm driving him home."

Scott fumbles with the keys and begins to protest before a red-eyed glare from Derek shuts him up for once. Stiles can't even manage to feel indignant that Derek just gave away the keys to his jeep, because he has a feeling this will lead to many, many good things if he just goes along with it.

The ride is completely silent. It might have been uncomfortable if Stiles didn't spend the entire time staring at Derek, the way he keeps licking his lips, his quickened breathing, the slight sweat dampening his forehead. There's a reason he didn't wait until tonight to sneak into his room, and Stiles honestly can't wait to find it out. The thick scent of pheromones has completely filled the interior of the car, and it's really all he can do not to jump on him right now, the possibility of car crashes be damned.

He doesn't know where they are when they stop. It's certainly not his house. It might be the old Hale house. It could be an empty field for all he cares because Derek is turning off the car and pinning him with that look and he just scrambles over the middle console to literally splay over his lap and drag their hips together.

There's a loud honk as Derek pins him against the steering wheel. They both ignore it; it's not important. Now, Derek's hands on his hips, that's important, gripping him so tightly he just knows there'll be bruises. Teeth - not the werewolf variety, just the standard package - attack his neck, and he just knows he's going to have to wear a hoodie tomorrow to cover that. Maybe he'll wear the red one. He knows Derek likes it. Something about the color really sets him off just right.

"Ohhh. Yes," Stiles says breathlessly, tugging at the older man's leather jacket. "Come on, man, come on, I'm so hard it hurts, please..."

Derek growls at that, though whatever effect he's going for is severely lessened by his one hand fumbling with his pants, the other still gripping Stiles tight as he grinds their hips together. Little honks come from the car with each thrust, and the steering wheel is digging into his back. This isn't comfortable in the slightest, but that heavy fog of lust is still lingering and he just wants it as fast as possible.

He's not entirely sure how he does it, but somehow, Derek gets both of their pants open without severe injury. He pulls out both their cocks and starts to stroke them together, making Stiles cry out and arch against him, setting off the horn once again. Derek's hand is rough and calloused, creating such a great feeling of friction that Stiles might just go out of his mind. He leans forward so his head is resting on the seat and moves his hips again Derek's hand soundlessly. For once, he's out of moans and out of words, all he wants is more of this, more heat, more pleasure, more touching.

Stiles doesn't exactly know when he cums. His brain is so fuzzy and the pleasure so great that the spike doesn't even register in his brain. He doesn't even realize until after, when he realizes he's gone soft and, to his intense displeasure, Derek is no longer touching him.

From this angle, Stiles can see all of Derek's neck, his olive-colored skin now flushed a deep red. He gives in to impulse and leans down to bite and suck at the sensitive skin, leaving a small, sloppy, inexpert mark right where the shoulder meets the neck.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, his voice slurring so much it takes Stiles a few moments to realize what he's said.

"Just...nothing," Stiles says innocently, gingerly trying to disentangle himself from Derek so he can go back to the passenger's seat. Derek's hands tighten on his hips and pull him back. "What?"

"Don't mark me," Derek says with a growl; a small one, but a growl nonetheless.

"Wha-come on, dude, that's not fair! You got to turn my neck into hamburger meat but one little spot on you and it's the end of the world?" He can't help the pout that puckers his face. "That's like...half the fun."

Derek stares up at him, his grip loosening considerably. "We're not mates, Stiles," he says slowly, like he's a kid that needs things repeated to him constantly. "I'm not yours to mark."

"Oh, blah blah blah, whatever. Werewolves..." He's suddenly aware of the very...intimate position they're in and takes the time to carefully tuck himself back into his pants before clambering back into the passenger's seat. "Take me home." He's not mad. Not really. Maybe a little annoyed, but not nearly as much as he's pretending to be. More than anything, he's embarrassed, and a little ashamed thinking back on Scott's advice. He's just using him. This will never be anything more. Which is fine with him. That's what he tells himself. It's just fine with him.

Still, the minute he gets home, he goes up to his room and locks his window. He feels like punishing Derek a little bit.

Stiles doesn't really expect to keep up the hide and seek routine for long. Certainly not from Derek. So when a week goes by and he hasn't heard so much as a peep from him, okay, maybe he's a little worried. Not too much, but like...the normal amount of worried one might be if someone they don't particularly like is MIA for an extended period of time.

So he goes to his house. No big deal, he just wants to make sure he hasn't finally gotten himself killed or something. That's mistake number one. Mistake number two is not immediately turning around and leaving when he hears the screams and howls coming from the basement. Mistake number three is ignoring every instinct in him that says not to and climbing down the burnt and rotting stairs into the dungeon-esque basement below.

He's not sure what he expects when he goes down there, but a chained up, half-transformed Derek...not necessarily high on the list. It's too dark for Derek to see him, but he can tell by the way he stops howling and sniffs the air that he can smell him. He knows he's here.

"Uh...hey, there...D-Derek," he laughs nervously, trying to go for cute and awkward and completely overshooting it to land on piss-pants scared.

"Stiles..." Derek's voice is pained, little more than a growl as he pulls at his restraint cuffs. "Why did you come here?"

"I was, uh...worried?" For good reason, it seems, but Derek doesn't seem to think so. "What are you...?"

"You can't...be here..." Derek's breath is coming in short pants and Stiles can practically see the inner battle going on, the fight to both break his restraints and keep himself restrained. "I can't...keep myself in control...if you're here..."

"But...you can control the wolf, right?" Stiles says stupidly. All he knows is that Derek is the one werewolf around that doesn't go on a killing spree whenever the full moon is up. "Can't you, like...reign it in or something?"

"This isn't like the full moon," Derek grinds out from between clenched teeth. "This wolf runs deeper...it's a more primal desire than killing. And it's not satisfied anymore. It wants...to mate...with you..."

"Oh! Um..." Stiles doesn't know whether to be terrified or flattered, so he lands somewhere in between. "That's...um, wow, really?"

"It's not a compliment, Stiles!" Derek screams again and his arms strain against the restraint. "Just...get out of here!"

"Uh-huh. That's a course of action. Kind of an obvious course of action. Except for the part where your wolf breaks free and does it anyway. So we could just...I dunno, let it happen? I mean, I'd rather it happen now than as a surprise in the middle of the night..."

"You have absolutely no idea what you are getting yourself into." And Stiles could swear he hears the hint of a laugh in that last tortured scream. "It's going to hurt and you're going to cry and I'm not going to be able to stop..."

"Yeah, that's a pretty sucky way to lose your virginity..." Stiles doesn't even know why he's agreeing to this. Maybe it really is because he just doesn't want him sprung on him. After all, he knows Derek can break those chains eventually, and if the wolf really wants him...well, it's only a matter of time. Might as well happen on his own terms. Or maybe it's because, deep down, he really can't stand to see Derek suffer. "Alright then, so...let's do this."

At those words, Derek manages to gain control of himself to put some slack in the chains. "The key is, um...in that chest over there." Stiles fumbles the lock open and pulls out the small golden key, then slowly and warily approaches Derek. He doesn't want the other to jump out at him unexpectedly, but the promise of actually getting what it wants seems to have calmed the wolf down considerably, though Derek is trembling when he wraps his fingers around his wrist.

"This isn't gonna be like the other times," Derek says just as Stiles is about to unlock him. "It won't be fun, or nice. It won't feel good. Just...know that."

Stiles licks his lips and nods once before turning the small key and releasing the alpha wolf from his shackles.

Suddenly he's landing on cold, hard concrete with the wind knocked out of him. He's on his back for all of two seconds before he feels rough hands (rough hands with _claws_, he notes, as they rip a hole in his jacket) turn him over on his hands and knees. He presses his forehead into the cool floor. He's scared, and tensed up, and he knows that'll just make it hurt more but he can't help it. He can't believe he agreed to this, he is going to regret the hell out of this decision.

He unbuckles his own belt and pulls down his pants before Derek has a chance to shred his jeans up too. He can feel the werewolf's presence above him, looming, wanting, waiting for the right moment. Seconds stretch on and on and just as he's about to scream at him to do it already, he feels Derek's hips jerk hard and suddenly he's inside him.

It hurts just as much as he expects, and more. He can't even scream, it hurts that bad. And Derek just keeps going, thrusting in and out of him like a man possessed. Why did he agree to this? Why? Why couldn't he have just stayed home, read a good book, done some homework, literally anything else?

He can't say how long it lasts. He blacks out at one point, mercifully, and reawakens on the crumbling couch in the burnt-out den. He tries to sit up and whimpers at the sudden pain that shoots up his spine. Well, there goes that plan.

He doesn't expect Derek to suddenly be there, with a glass of water and two pills, but he is, and that concerned look on his face just looks foreign when it's pointed his way.

"Heh. Don't treat me so nice, I might get used to it," Stiles says, gratefully taking the pills. Vicodin. Nice. "It wasn't that bad."

"Liar." Is that a hint of a smile? Stiles has no idea because it disappears as soon as he thinks he sees it. "Anyway...I won't make you do it again. I can keep myself chained until the end of mating season."

"Yeah, okay, I'm sure that'll work out great for you..."

"Stiles." Derek's voice is firm, but gentle. Gentler than Stiles has ever heard it, actually. That gives him a weird feeling in his chest that he can't really describe.

"Um...well...what I'm saying is I don't...think it's a good idea to like, sex starve yourself like that. If you did it more often, maybe you wouldn't lose control like you did?" Derek blinks, and Stiles grins triumphantly. He probably hasn't even thought about that.

"You're saying...you'd want to go through that again..." There's no masking the disbelief in Derek's voice, and he can practically hear the "you idiot" underlying his words.

"Well, it won't be like that, will it? You'll be more in control, you'll have time to be a little...slower. It'll feel good." At least he hopes it will because Danny seems to enjoy it but then again he doubts Danny's first time was with a werewolf in heat.

"Stiles..." Now Derek is exasperated, but Stiles can see he's thinking about it. He can't believe he used to think the guy was difficult to read. He's really an open book once you start paying attention. "You're going to have enough trouble just going to the bathroom the next few days. You really think you're going to be up for that again? Even if I do it right, it's still going to hurt."

"Okay, well, I'm on board the 'wait until Stiles recovers' train if you are," Stiles giggles nervously. That's half from the medicine finally beginning to kick in and half from the idea of not even being able to take a crap without being in agonizing pain. One thing's for certain, he is not going to school for like a week, he's deserved that and he is not sitting in those cramped wooden desks while his ass feels like the equivalent of a pincushion...with one very large pin.

Derek sighs and kind of runs on of his hands through Stiles' short hair. The calluses feel good against his scalp and he leans into the touch with a grin. "Mmmmm...you still smell nice," he mumbles, leaning closer to burrow into the collar of his shirt. If he weren't so loopy, he'd be surprised by the way his strong arms envelope him and pull him close to his chest. But he likes it, way more than he would admit sober. He likes the feel of Derek's warm skin hidden under his cotton t-shirt, the creak of his leather jacket, the sound of his steady heartbeat in his ear.

Wow, he is such a girl.

He vaguely remembers the feeling of Derek picking him up, placing him in his own jeep, and then driving. The next thing he knows, he's waking up in his own bed. Derek is still there, which Stiles finds surprising, but maybe he's not supposed to notice him because he's just kind of sitting in the corner, hidden almost completely in the shadows except for the pinpricks of red light that are his eyes.

Stiles feels another shot of pain as he tries to adjust and whimpers. Not even a manly whimper, a total girly whimper that is completely accurate because man, it hurts even worse than before, what is that about. Almost immediately, Derek is by his side with more medicine and more water. Stiles can't help but wonder where he's getting these pills from but they're helping so he won't look that particular gift horse in the mouth. When Derek stands to go back to his spot in the corner, or leave, or something, Stiles grabs his jacket sleeve with the reflexes of a madman.

"Stay," he says quietly. Derek hesitates a moment before climbing into the bed with him. They don't really cuddle or anything, but Stiles does put a hand on his leg and Derek does run his fingers over his hair, and it's kind of a tender moment even though "tender" and "Derek" don't even belong in the same sentence together.

They lay like that together, quietly, long enough for the drugs to kick in and give Stiles enough courage to say, "Why are you being so nice to me?" He's not sure why that's funny, but it makes Derek laugh, and that feels kinda weird, what with him being so close. Like it makes the air around him shake.

"I don't know why you and Scott have this idea that I'm such a bad guy," he says, clearly amused. "All I've ever done was try to help you."

"Yeah...and I bet all that wall-slamming and threatening was just your way of a pat on the back and a 'good job, Stiles,' right?" Stiles is half-joking, but he's starting to feel like that might actually be accurate and he's not sure if that's scary or not. "Anyway, you've never been this nice before."

"Well, I'm the reason you're hurt..." Suddenly all the amusement is gone from Derek's voice. "It's sort of a pack thing. I have to take care of you until you're better."

Stiles peers up at him even though he can barely see him in the darkness. "It's okay, you know. I agreed to it. It wasn't really..."

"I know." He sees the flash of red in Derek's eyes as he meets his gaze. "Why did you agree to it? Or any of this? I know you're not exactly my biggest fan."

"Fuck, I don't know." Stiles lets loose an explosive breath, thinking. "I like...helping. Yeah. I can't do what you guys do, I'm not like super strong or fast or powerful or anything. But being available as a fuck buddy? That's something everyone can do."

"Nobody does what you've done just because of that," Derek points out, and yeah, okay, he's got him there.

"Fine," Stiles huffs. "It's also because you're ridiculously hot. Happy now?" He turns so his back is to Derek even though it causes immense pain throughout his lower back. He grits his teeth and tries to bear with it. "Okay, I'm tired now, goodnight."

He can feel the tips of Derek's fingers brush just against the back of his neck before their owner pulls them away. "Yeah. Goodnight." Stiles finds himself missing the contact...he'll admit he likes it when Derek touches him, even in an innocent way. But the drugs are really taking effect now and he can feel himself being dragged down to la-la land once again. Derek's solid presence behind him is comforting as he drifts once again into darkness.

It's weird the way Derek treats him now, like he's made of glass. Stiles ended up having to take a week off from school (he told his dad it was the flu, and since he has the immune system of a flea, he's kept his distance ever since) and every single day Derek spends at his house. They have sex of a sort, since Derek can't suddenly go celibate if they don't want a repeat performance, but since pretty much every movement makes Stiles ache, it's not exactly the most pleasant time of his life.

One interesting thing does happen, though. After Stiles takes his pills every night, they sit awake in bed and talk. Nothing ground-breaking or anything, but it's...nice? Stiles is usually too out of it to remember everything they say, but he is now in possession of the knowledge that Derek used to be a skinny math dork in high school and drugs or not he will never forget that as long as he lives.

They never talk about anything too deep, though. Their personal lives, like the ones involving either of their families, stay locked inside their own heads. No matter how drugged Stiles is, that is just a line they won't cross.

Then one night, just as he starts feeling better, Derek just stops coming. Stiles barely notices at first, since he's actually busy and really, it's not like he and Derek actually made any sort of plan for nightly visits. So one night isn't alarming. Even two is nothing to be concerned about. But when five days go by without a peep from the werewolf, he starts noticing his absence. It gets harder and harder to sleep, especially with the absence of vicodin, which he's become so used to in the short time he's been allowed it. Without it, the pain is almost unbearable. He takes other pain medicine, but none of it really works.

For a while, he's angry. And then he decides it's none of his business if Derek wants to play this keep-away game. He's only making himself suffer. He does homework and reads and does all the things he can't when Derek is around. He stops changing clothes because it hurts too much to move. He dozes in lieu of actual sleep and dreams of stupid werewolves that smell nice and touches that make his knees weak.

Stiles wakes sometime in the middle of the eighth night of his absence, horny and aching and full of self-righteous anger. How dare that bastard just run off like that? They made a deal, he isn't allowed to back out unless Stiles says so. He sits up to put on his shoes and stalks downstairs, then out to his jeep. So what if it's probably something like 3 in the morning? So what if he still feels like there's a knife shoved up his ass? He's going to find that stupid werewolf and give him a piece of his mind.

He doesn't bother going to the Hale house, knows instinctively that Derek won't be there if he's trying to avoid Stiles. Instead he goes to the old trainyard, to the gutted car Derek's pack calls home. There's a light from a lantern inside and that just makes him angrier for some reason. He slams his jeep door as he stalks over, knowing that Derek and any other werewolf within a mile radius will hear it and know he's here. He doesn't care. He wants them to know.

The sight that Stiles walks in on stops him dead in his tracks. Derek and Boyd are both inside, and even though they're half-hidden by a dividing wall, there's no mistaking those primal grunts and moans. Stiles can't take his eyes off of the sight of Derek on his hands and knees, eyes clenched shut in bliss, insanely beautiful as the sweat drips from his forehead to land on the dirt floor below. Boyd is a gigantic presence above him driving into him with an intensity he's never seen from the other boy before. It's scary and arousing all at once, and some complicated mix of feelings he's kind of scared to analyze.

Then suddenly Derek's eyes are open and pinning him with a look that is half surprise, half murderous intent and before he knows it he's running, no longer anything except terrified out of his mind. Somehow, in his shell-shocked state, he makes it home in one piece. The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, which is just fine with him because there's no way he's going back to sleep now.

He locks his window, not so much to punish Derek this time but instead because he's scared for his life, and then proceeds to lock and bar every window and door in the house.

Only after he does that does he feel anything resembling safe, just enough to take a shower, though he stings his eyes more than once when he opens them to make sure Derek isn't hiding behind the curtain. He throws on new clothes for the first time in days and escapes to school.

Boyd's not there (thank god) but Isaac and Erica are, and so is Scott, to his great delight. He doesn't want to admit to his friend that he was right, but since he's pretty sure Derek is even now planning on how to make it look like an accident, he could use the muscle.

"Hey, so...hypothetically, how open are you to being a bodyguard?" is Stiles' brilliant opening line to his friend in Biology class. Scott blinks at him for a moment before sighing and rubbing at his forehead.

"Stiles, what did you do this time?"

"What? Nothing. I'm offended that you would even ask. Offended. We're talking hypotheticals here, Scott, and while we're on the subject, when are you available to start doing bodyguard things? Now would be just swell, you know, speaking hypothetically of course." Scott sighs again and shakes his head.

"If this has to do with Derek, I told you not to get involved with him." Scott shrugs. "Look, if it comes down to a physical fight, I'll help you, but otherwise, you're going to have to deal with him on your own, Stiles."

"Aw, come on, Scott!" But now class has started and Scott refuses to discuss this any further. He doesn't understand, Stiles is pretty sure Derek is _actually _going to kill him. In the no coming back permanent way. He's tense all day, waiting for the metaphorical axe to fall in the form of Derek's swift vengeance for whatever he witnessed last night.

Despite his worries, however, he makes it through the whole day without seeing hide or hair of the werewolf. In fact, he makes it to the end of the week. And then the next week. And then the next. Scott's the one who informs him that mating season is over. And yet, still, no sign of the Sourwolf.

He wonders what happened. Was it because he overstepped his boundaries? Could Derek somehow sense whatever it was that Stiles felt that night? It doesn't really matter because it's obvious Derek never wants to see him again, but it would be nice to know. He wishes he'd never left that night, never caught Derek with Boyd. He wishes he had taken his friend's advice and not gotten involved with Derek Hale in the first place.

You'd think in a town as small as Beacon Hills, he would run into Derek alone eventually. It probably helps that they're both sort of avoiding each other. Plus, school is a wonderful distraction that Stiles has wildly underestimated up until this point. He still helps Scott when he needs it, of course, he's not going to abandon his best friend, but whenever Derek's involved he makes it a point to have a test to study for or some important research to do so he can leave before the older man arrives or avoid showing up at all. Derek has to know it's all deliberate, and Stiles takes his silence on the matter to mean he's got no interest in changing this.

So. That's that. It goes on like that for months, through the Kanima incident and the end of the school year, even to the arrival of the Alpha Pack, which has been mysteriously quiet. They've got a plan or something, but nobody knows what it is and for now everyone's taking the down time to train and trying not to dwell too much on when the fighting's going to begin.

Then it happens. One night in mid-July, the air is at the perfect temperature to leave his window wide open, and so what if there are werewolves out there, there are _always_ werewolves, suddenly he can't enjoy a nice breeze? He's busy doing research on alphas (mostly the same stuff he already knows, but there has to have been something he overlooked so he's reading through his notes for the umpteen billionth time) and he hears just the slightest rustling at his window. Normally he would barely react, but with everything going on, he's quite a bit justified in his panic. He reaches for the baseball bat he borrowed from Scott (hidden conveniently under his desk) and turns in his chair to swing at the intruder.

When he sees it's Derek, it's too late to stop, and really he feels like the bastard deserves to get hit anyway, but then the werewolf catches the bat in one hand and crushes into splinters and there goes that plan.

"Hey..." Stiles croaks out, letting his rubbery legs deposit him back in his chair. "That...you owe Scott a new bat..."

"What the hell do you think you're doing, leaving that open?" Derek glares at the window, which is now shut and locked, when did that happen? Stiles follows his gaze and then gapes up at the other. He's not really sure what he's supposed to say, so he just kinda rubs the back of his neck and mumbles something resembling an apology.

Derek seems to tune in to the awkwardness, and they both just kind of sit in silence for a while. The elephant in the room is growing bigger, and it's obvious they can't ignore it for long. And, really, Stiles doesn't want to. He's actually pretty angry now, and he can't really hold back a scornful grunt as he steels himself for the conversation they are definitely having right now.

"So. How's Boyd doing?"

Derek looks startled, and says, "He's fine?" looking almost confused by the question. That just makes Stiles angrier because he is not allowed to play dumb, not after the terrifying face he made at him that night. Certainly not after ignoring him for so long.

"Oh, you know, I just figured if he's your mate you could at least talk about him. I mean, congratulations and all, did I ever say that? Because congratulations on finding the exact opposite of a stupid, weak, gangly human being." He's standing now, pacing his room like a madman, and Derek keeps trying to talk, but he just talks over him. "Really, though, I don't understand why you just didn't go for him in the first place because boy you really could have saved me a lot of grief if you did. Do you know I still can't sit quite right?"

Stiles barely registers the hand gripping on his arm and immediately shakes it off when it tries to pull him to a stop. He's worked himself up into a tizzy now and he's not stopping until he's said everything he wants to say. "But what I really don't get is how you think you can just stop by and what? Everything will be completely normal? Because guess what, everything's pretty fucked up and you think you can just come in here and lecture me like you have any _right..._!" He doesn't realize he's crying until Derek's forcing him to stop and he feels the moisture drip down from his chin and oh, okay, that's happening, this isn't humiliating at all.

"I've...had a lot of Adderall today..." he mumbles, as if that explains everything, pawing at his eyes and turning away from Derek's touch. He's kind of regretting that he started this and just wants Derek to leave already.

Derek just stares down at him, rough and callused hands touching his face so gently it shouldn't be legal. When he finally speaks, it's so low Stiles has to strain to hear it:

"Boyd is not my mate."

Hello, self-righteous anger.

"No? So you regularly let yourself get fucked by your Betas?" It comes out harsher than he intends, and Derek reels back as if Stiles slapped him. Not that he could ever hope to really hurt him. Still, the point stands. "You're a slut."

Derek's eyes glow red and Stiles finds himself pinned roughly against the wall with one clawed hand pressed against his throat. He cries out in fear and immediately tries to struggle, but is silenced by Derek's nose inches from his own and a squeeze that makes him gulp for air.

"I'm going to say this once," Derek growls, and Stiles believes him so he makes an effort to actually listen because he has a feeling he'll want to hear whatever it is. "You were in pain. Because of me. I fixed the problem. I did what I had to do."

"Oh, really, so it was a self-sacrifice then?" Stiles scowls. "Martyrdom doesn't look particularly attractive on you, Derek. What was your plan, exactly? Sleep with Boyd until the end of mating season and then...what? Go back to ignoring me like before? You don't get to do that after...after everything. You just don't. And don't you dare go all scary wolf face on me like it's all my fault because I swear to god I will do something threatening as soon as I figure out what it is."

Derek lets out a huff against his face that might be a laugh but might also be a scoff, it's difficult to tell from so close. He lets Stiles go, though, so that has to count for something. He stumbles a bit when he's on level ground again and swears for a moment that Derek almost reaches out to catch him, but then he must have changed his mind because he's standing there with his hands in his pockets, waiting. For what? For Stiles to say something? Fuck that, he's said what he wanted to say. As far as he's concerned, the conversation's over.

Stiles sits back down at his chair and continues reading, though the words barely register in his mind as he actively ignores the alpha wolf still in his room. Derek doesn't seem keen on talking, or leaving, unfortunately. When he glances over his shoulder, he's made himself comfortable, reclining on his bed and reading a book. Like nothing's wrong. The nerve of some people.

After nearly an hour of tense silence, Derek, is the one to break it.

"I only slept with Boyd because it was convenient." He sounds almost meek about it, contrite even. Stiles has only heard him speak like that once before. After...that incident. But no, he's not going to let himself feel pity for Derek just because he's suddenly sorry.

"Your betas sure are lucky," he says, his voice muffled from where his mouth is resting on his hand. "To have such a caring and loving alpha such as yourself..."

"What do you want me to say? Do you want me to say whatever I had with Boyd meant something?" Derek snarls. "If I'd had the choice..."

"You did have the choice!" Stiles swivels his chair around to face him, his anger bubbling up once more. "I practically offered myself up on a silver platter, if you didn't notice. I went through so much just to...ugh!" Stiles' hands grip his hair in frustration. "Why do you even...why can't you just tell people what you want instead of going behind everyone's back?"

Derek's scowl doesn't waver. Stiles isn't entirely sure what he's waiting for, but he seems to be expecting something. When Stiles doesn't start talking, he goes back to his book, looking bored.

"Hey, I'm talking here!" He stalks over to the bed and yanks the book down so that Derek is forced to look at him. He's not sure what to say, he really isn't, so even he's surprised when the words come out of his mouth. "Why did you have to let Boyd...do that?"

Derek blinks, his face smoothing out. He was clearly not expecting that. "I don't..."

"You know what I mean! You..." Stiles glances away, tips of his ears red. "You let him...fuck you. I just want to know why."

Derek still looks confused. "It was mating season," he says slowly.

"Do I seriously have to spell it out for you?" Stiles runs a hand through his hair with an explosive sigh. "Okay, see, cuz like you're always super possessive and junk when we do stuff and you don't seem like you...would like playing catcher? If you catch my drift?"

"That's different." Derek actually seems to get it and leans forward just the slightest bit. "My wolf wants to mate with you. It wants to possess you. It didn't...feel the same about Boyd. So that wouldn't work."

"Oh..." Stiles thinks he understands, but that's actually a little weird. "So...what, little wolfy won't come out to play for just anyone?"

"That's an...interesting way to put it," Derek says, scowl now back on his face. "But if you must know, yes, my wolf is very picky." He hesitates, as if he's not sure whether or not to say what he's going to say next, and then apparently decides to go for broke and says, "That night, when you walked in on us, and I saw you...I came right away."

"Oh..." That's some interesting new information, and Stiles can't say that it doesn't make him feel a little proud. "So wait...why did you avoid me afterward?"

"Because you were afraid." Derek leans forward a bit more so their noses are mere inches apart. "I could smell the fear on you every time I tried to get close. I figured maybe some time apart would help you relax." Their noses bumped together just barely. "Did it help?"

Stiles can feel Derek's breath on his face and licks his lips. He's so close now and it's hard not to look into his eyes, a steady green instead of the angry red he's so used to. "Yeah," he says quietly. Then one of them leans in and their lips meet in a chaste kiss.

It doesn't hit him for a second that it's actually their first kiss, since even through all the shit they went through, they hadn't ever had time to take that one simple step. For good reason, it seems. It's...intimate, in a way that sex isn't. At least, it is for Stiles. It only lasts a few seconds, and when they pull apart, he's staring once again into those green eyes, letting himself get lost in the swirls and patterns in the iris.

"Stiles." Derek's thumb brushes against his cheek and he's so close and Stiles almost leans in again but then the situation kind of hits him and he remembers he's supposed to be mad at Derek and he pulls back instead.

Derek chases him and presses their lips together and this time it is a little urgent and that stupid smell is back and wasn't that just supposed to be a mating season thing? Whatever, it's making his brain feel fuzzy and doing wonderful things in his pants, and he can't really seem to remember why he was angry in the first place so it can definitely wait until after because he'll never admit it out loud but he's really missed this.

"How do you feel?" Derek asks against his lips. His fingers slide into Stiles' sweatpants and he rubs against his hole gently. Stiles hisses but it's not a hiss of pain. Despite his comment about not sitting right, he actually hasn't been sore in weeks.

"Please," he whispers, pressing closer. His lips part and in comes Derek's tongue to play. He whines as his inexperienced mouth moves against the other's and Derek's hand slides into his underwear as a finger prods against his entrance.

Somehow Derek is in control. Somehow, because Stiles is barely in control and he's not even the one with the crazy werewolf instincts. He gets Stiles on his back and takes a tube of lubricant out of his pocket (Stiles wants to accuse him of planning this but his brain is mush and it can wait) then coats his fingers in it generously and slides one inside of him.

Okay, so maybe he's still a little sore. But those pheromones of Derek's really make the pain a complete non-issue. Derek could probably punch him in the face right now and he'd just moan and ask for more. He wonders if that makes him a slut, but decides not to worry about it when Derek's questing finger finds a spot that makes him scream and arch up and curl his toes all at once. Oh, that is interesting.

He almost doesn't want to wait for Derek to be inside of him, but the werewolf takes his time, stretching him thoroughly the way he didn't - he _couldn't _- their first time together. It's horribly torturous, and Derek keeps doing this thing where he just barely brushes against his prostate with his fingers but not nearly enough for Stiles, and he's a begging moaning mess by the time Derek shows mercy. He takes his time stripping them, which Stiles both loves and hates since he gets to see an almost literal striptease but it takes forever. Then he leans over Stiles to press a kiss to his lips. While Stiles is distracted with that, Derek gently spreads his legs as wide as they'll go and pushes inside of him at an agonizingly slow pace.

Oh, it hurts alright. There's no denying that. Stiles can feel the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. It feels like he's being torn apart little by little. But Derek is so slow and gentle, distracting Stiles with touching and kissing, and eventually the pain fades a little bit. It starts to feel good, despite everything, and he clutches at the other's muscled back and desperately begs for more.

He doesn't know if Derek is being a deliberate tease or not, but he continues at his slow pace, a look of intense concentration on his face. Stiles wraps his legs around the other's waist, and he suddenly doesn't care whether or not he's a slut because it sends a shudder up Derek's spine and he jerks forward in a thrust that makes him moan helplessly.

"Derek," Stiles gasps, tightening his legs. "Come on. I'm not...not gonna break. Just do it." He doesn't know that for sure, of course, but if this feels good, going faster should logically feel even better, right? After a few moments, he gets his wish. Derek begins thrusting in a little faster, awkwardly at first and Stiles wonders what he's doing until he hits that spot dead-on and he arches up with a loud cry.

It's still agonizingly slow, but when Derek keeps hitting _that spot_, he can barely think, let alone muster the will to beg coherently. And who needs to beg, anyway, when he feels like he's going out of his mind already? Not him, this is just fine as far as he's concerned. He's not even touching himself and he knows he's going to cum any second.

Derek is making all these animal sounds, and they shouldn't be hot, but all those growls and grunts are so primal and so fucking sexy. Stiles hoards them away like little gifts in his mind and clutches him tighter, making little motions with his hips that he can tell are driving Derek crazy. After a few moments, he feels a distinct wetness, and knows Derek is cumming inside of him. That thought makes him moan against his shoulder and cum right after. He shudders against Derek's incredibly warm body, clutching him so close he's practically lifting himself off the bed.

When he finally comes down, it's to the feel of gentle lips and teeth against his neck. He makes a soft noise and nuzzles his shoulder, feeling safe and happy. His voice slurs a little bit when he says,

"That was much better than the last time." When he thinks back on his first time, he'll remember this, and not that terrible night in the Hale manor basement. He wants to just lay here for hours with Derek filling him up and his warm weight covering him, and that's such a foreign thought that he's forced to analyze it before he even makes a conscious effort to do so.

"Oh, fuck..." he groans, turning instinctively from the scratchy kisses Derek lays along his throat. He's in love with Derek Hale. That's just the most masochistic thing he's ever done to himself, of course he would be. "Derek, would you just...we need to talk..."

"There's nothing to talk about," Derek says in a voice that's half a growl. He shifts his hips and Stiles feels a spark run up his spine from where they're still connected. He can't even find it in himself to be angry anymore, all cognitive brain function has officially checked out. So he gives up, because in some way, Derek is right. There's not much left to talk about by this point, and it can always wait until the morning.

Eventually, Derek pulls out of him and lays down by his side, wrapping an arm protectively around his waist. Stiles laughs at that, a little giggle at the outright ridiculousness of it all.

"Didn't know you could be such a cuddlebug, Sourwolf," he teases. That earns him a sharp bite at the back of his neck, but it doesn't really hurt so he just laughs. From this angle, Derek's scent is all around, mixed with the heady smell of sex that still lingers and probably will for days after. It lulls him into the deepest sleep he's had in months, feeling safe and happy wrapped in Derek's arms.

In hindsight, not locking his door is pretty stupid move.

When Stiles wakes the next morning, he's sleepy and happy warm and all sorts of good things. He's a little sore, but it's more of a barely-there burn that he has no real concerns about.

As he rises slowly to consciousness like coming up from a warm pool of water, he dimly realizes there's shouting coming from downstairs. He wakes suddenly, realizing Derek's gone and his door is wide open. He groans as his mind puts two and two together, curling up in an effort to try and ignore reality. But he can't hide out forever, and it's probably better to get it done and over with as fast as possible.

He dresses quickly, but then sort of tiptoes downstairs. Apparently, they decided to get away from his room in order not to wake him, but since his father is essentially having a freakout, the sentiment falls a bit flat. Derek's just sort of standing in the middle of the kitchen, a steady rock to his father's streams of "irresponsible," and "taking advantage of my son," and other such arguments that make him cringe because they're technically true even though he wasn't exactly an unwilling party to whatever happened.

Derek glances up and notices him at the foot of the stairs, causing the sheriff to pause his tirade and follow his gaze. Well, now he feels all sorts of awkward, so he just kinda waves and tries to push down the urge to run far, far away from this situation.

"Morning, Dad. Derek. Uhhhhhh...what's for breakfast?" And he couldn't even think about eating right now, but he needs to say something because the silence is deafening and he can practically feel his father's judgmental stare boring a hole in his head.

"Actually, Derek was just leaving," the sheriff says, shooting a pointed glare at the other man. Of course Derek's not intimidated by his dad, but he pretends to be. He shoots Stiles a glance to let him know he'll be back later and promptly leaves. Great, now Stiles is all alone and there's no place for his father to direct his rage but right at him.

He flinches as his father approaches him, though he knows instinctively that he'd never hurt him. He does grip him by the shoulders, however, pretty tightly actually, and looks downright terrifying with that expression and really he'd rather be anywhere else right now, literally anywhere just so he doesn't have to deal with _that expression_ on his father's face, full of anger and fear and disappointment and shame. Shame for what? Shame that Stiles' first time was with a man? Shame that it was Derek Hale?

His father takes a deep breath and Stiles braces himself for the worst. But all he says is, "Were you safe?" And Stiles is so surprised at that that at first it doesn't even register what his father is asking him. It's only when he starts to look angry again that he splutters out,

"Yes, yes, jesus, Dad, of course...what...god, how could you even ask that?" It's not a lie, really; Stiles vaguely remembers snippets of last night, and he's pretty sure there's at least a 50/50 chance they used a condom. Maybe. Not that it really matters because Derek's a werewolf and can he even get STDs? That's something he really needs to ask.

"I can ask it because I've got a right to know." His dad's a bit less hysterical now, but he's still gripping his arms tightly in his own. "I just...didn't expect to see that..."

"Yeah, well, trust me, if I was expecting it to happen, I would have locked the door..." It's meant to be a joke, but the sheriff doesn't take it that way.

"He's six years older than you," his father deadpans. "You're still underage. Stiles, you're not..."

"Gay. I know. I know, okay?" Finally, his father's grip loosens and he runs a troubled hand through his hair. "It's just, like...really, really complicated and weird and I mean if you think about it I'm going to be eighteen in ten months and that's not even that long, Dad..."

"How long has this been going on?"

Stiles pauses, considering telling him about everything that happened during the last few months. (Sans werewolf bits, of course) But then he decides he doesn't need to freak his father out more than necessary and says, "Yesterday was the first time." And it's not a lie, he tells himself, because it was the only time that mattered, and so he's counting it.

His father kind of sighs in relief, though he doesn't look much less tense than before. "That's good. Okay. You're grounded."

"Wha-! Why?!"

"For having sex underage and forcing me to endure the sight of Derek Hale naked." He sighs and rubs at his temples. "Go to your room. Until...until you're eighteen. Just...stay in there until then."

Stiles splutters in protest, but honestly, he's just happy to be out of this conversation. He takes the steps two at a time to get away as fast as possible.

Of course Derek's waiting for him when he gets up to his room. When he unlocked the window, he doesn't have a clue. Stiles glares at the alpha werewolf's scowling face, and he knows it's not really Derek's fault they were caught, but he wants to take it out on someone and he's really the only candidate right now.

"I really hope you're proud of yourself," Stiles says haughtily, stalking over to his computer chair and pointedly turning his back on Derek. "Why'd you even stick around, anyway?"

"I didn't want to leave." Derek's standing behind him now, and Stiles opens his computer to avoid looking over his shoulder. "I think I have the right to sleep with you if I want to."

"The _right_?!" Stiles almost laughs at that because Derek is completely serious. "What right, exactly? As what? As my...my fuck-buddy? Sorry to say, pal, those don't get rights."

Suddenly the chair is turning and Stiles finds himself face to face with a growling, red-eyed Derek. "My right as your mate," he says in a low voice, leaning so close their noses touch.

Oh.

OH.

"That's...but..." Stiles splutters, unable to think with the older man this close. "I thought you didn't want me to be. All that big commitment talk, and you said..."

"Forget what I said." Derek's lips brush against his, just barely, just a touch to get his attention. "It's also not up for debate."

Stiles is all ready to protest, until he sees the barest hint of a grin on Derek's face. He grins back and sinks down into the pillows to stare up at the beautiful face before him. "So what does that mean, exactly?" Derek's hand is resting on his knee and slowly sliding further up his thigh. Stiles should stop it, should definitely not let him cloud his judgment about something this important, but it's all he can do to keep eye contact with the older man, let alone mustering that kind of willpower.

"It means that you're mine..." Derek growls in his ear and Stiles has to suppress a shiver at those words.

"Mmmmm, okay...if that's all..." He laughs as Derek presses a scratchy kiss to his neck.

Yeah, this is going to work out just fine.


End file.
